Her Gilded Cage
by everlovingdeer
Summary: "I'm a squib," I admitted, the words actually passing my lips for the first time. Despite how he tried to hide it, I caught it – the small aborted step he took backwards. It was enough.
1. Her Gilded Cage

Despite all the rooms in our house, despite the big open garden at the back, my favourite room to be in was Greg's bedroom. Gregory who was at times a little slow but was the best brother I could have ever hoped for. He was my best friend – my only friend – and my confidante and I hated whenever he had to return to school. I spent near enough a week crying myself to sleep because I was once more left alone, trapped away and hidden away with nothing and no one to talk to save for the house-elves. Father might have thought me lowly and worth nothing, but he thought worse of the house-elves and wouldn't tolerate me speaking with them for longer than was strictly necessary.

But, with Gregory home from school, I was allowed to lounge in his room. His bedroom with one of the best views over the garden had a chaise lounge set up in front of the bay window in what he liked to call my little reading nook. Only when he was home did I have the courage to lounge and read aloud, with Greg beside me as he sat on the floor. Usually he'd listen to me as I read, feasting on a box of chocolates or a platter of cupcakes, as he sat – claiming I reminded him of mother when I read to him. Occasionally, he would offer me a chocolate or something to drink and I accepted them all without pause.

Reaching the end of the page, I prepared to turn it, only to still at the sound of loud voices echoing from the downstairs hallway all the way up to Greg's room. My voice trailed off as Greg stood quickly. We shared a glance, fleeting and nothing longer than a second, before he took my hand and hauled me to my feet. I complied easily, snagging the book in my hands and picking up my discarded cardigan.

Whilst most thought Gregory slow – and I hated that sometimes I also thought he was – he wasn't dull when it came to this. When it came to me, Gregory was sharp as a whip. He instantly called out for a house-elf, and when the creature appeared, he ordered it to make sure that if father planned on approaching the bedroom, he was kept occupied for a short while.

My feet led me quickly towards the two bookshelves in his room. One book self, short and standing below a portrait of our grandfather, was filled with story books. The second bookshelf, going from ceiling to floor, wasn't a bookshelf at all. I reached for it, pressing my palm against it and pushing it open, I hurried inside. The bookshelf shut behind me as I took a moment to recover – it was always so different, going from the open air in Greg's bedroom, to the enclosed space of mine. It always made me so suffocated.

The area behind the bookshelf opened up to a room roughly the same size as Gregory's but it was much sparser and much darker, with no window to bring some much needed warmth and sunlight into the room. There was an artificial window, one that showed me what the weather was like outside, but nothing else. The bed, the same as Gregory's, was some of the only furniture alongside a desk and an uncomfortable chair, a small bookshelf and a cupboard for my clothes. Father didn't allow me to decorate it and it was the same as it was when it was my nursery. The wallpaper – originally an emerald green had faded and picked up an almost greyish tint and the carpet beneath my feet was no longer plush and soft. House-elves kept the room clinically clean, refusing to let me fall ill because the room was dirty – father certainly wouldn't give me anything that would help me heal myself.

With the storybook still clutched against my chest, I approached the portrait that was hung over the smaller bookshelf in Gregory's room. Only, it wasn't a portrait, it was like a one way window, allowing me to peek into Gregory's room and – Greg had told me once – that there was a spell that would allow him to peer into my room. Father had to add that spell to the portrait when, after a bout of measle mumps, I almost died right in my bedroom. Gregory returned from his first term at Hogwarts to find out and he'd almost lost himself in his struggles to get to me, to get me help. Father conceded, almost having lost his heir, and set up the second end of the portrait so Greg could peek in whenever he needed to check that I was breathing.

Through the window of the portrait, I watched as Greg did a quick sweep of the room, making sure that there was no sign of my presence. He caught my sight of my slippers and kicked them quickly under his bed, turning instantly towards the door when it was pushed slowly open. My heart leapt to my throat and I silently prayed that Greg would be safe as my own eyes were rooted to the door. Salazar don't let that be father.

It wasn't. I released a deep relieved breath, one that Greg unconsciously mirrored at the sight of the platinum haired boy who walked into the room.

"Draco," my brother greeted approaching the boy.

Draco – Malfoy returned my brother's greeting and I didn't listen as the pair spoke of whatever. Instead, I let my eyes trail over the Slytherin – a friend my brother often spoke of. Apparently, Malfoy was one of the reasons Greg was doing adequately in his studies, choosing to help Greg with whatever he struggled with. Of course, for some reason, it was important that no one else knew Malfoy possessed a heart. The boy – taller than I'd anticipated, stood half a head taller than Greg, a full head taller than me.

My eyes followed him as Malfoy walked around the room, speaking to Greg in the greatest confidence of something that was apparently important. He approached the portrait, propping his elbow on top of the short bookshelf and I held my breath, waiting. His eyes turned then, as if he could feel my stare, towards the portrait with his brows narrowed. There was no way he could see me, and yet, my skin still prickled under his eyes. Swallowing thickly, I drew the curtain across my end of the portrait, closing me off from searching eyes.

* * *

Making the most of the days with Gregory still home, I ventured out of my bedroom and often settled comfortably in his. it was very rare that I explored further than the threshold of his bedroom, and I had certainly never made it passed the end of the hallway. Father refused to see me expect for on a few occasions where we all sat together for dinner – but those occasions were few and far between. I certainly hated those meals, having to sit beneath eyes the despised me and my mother's eyes that had no idea what to do with me. Of my immediate family, I knew Gregory was the only one that _actually _loved me and he was the only one I got to spend time with.

Settled once more on the chaise lounge, I read slowly through the final chapter of the book; once I'd finished this one, who knew when mother could get me another one. She always insisted that she would buy me more to keep me entertained, but she was always slow to do it.

The time I spent in Greg's room had grown shorter and shorter these past few days with the number of guests father had over increasing. I knew that none of father's guests would venture into Greg's room, and they wouldn't find me, but I would rather be safe than sorry. Especially given the way some of Gregory's friends had been attending these gatherings and I had to keep my distance. The moment Greg had heard the voices from downstairs, he'd apologised and left me alone with the promise that he would keep them as far from his room for as long as he could. He'd offered me a soft yet apologetic smile – hating that I would have to settle back into my bedroom.

I heard booming laughter – Gregory's and a secret signal to me, that I needed to leave. Putting my slippers on and grabbing my book, I did a final sweep through the room to check that I'd left nothing behind. Finding nothing, I walked to the bookshelf and pushed it open, hurrying into my room. The bookshelf shut behind me and I flicked the light switch beside the entrance before approaching my bed. Crossing my feet beneath me, I continued where I'd left off. Or rather I tried to.

Instead, my eyes were focused on the curtains covering the portrait and concealing Gregory's room from my eyes. There were voices on the other side – one belonging to Greg and I assumed the second to one of his friends. Unable to shake my curiosity, I rose slowly from my bed and crossed the space towards the portrait. I hesitated for a moment, hands grasping both curtains and opening them just enough that I could peek through them. Malfoy was here again.

Only, he looked a little different. I opened the curtain further and studied him as he stood beside the bookshelf once more. I could only see one side of his face, studying him as he spoke with Greg who had taken my seat. The darkened bags beneath his skin suggested he was having trouble sleeping and I wondered what it was that was keeping him awake. Was there some sort of stress? Or something that should have been insignificant keeping him awake?

I listened in then, clasping my hands together as Gregory asked his friend about the meeting. And it was enough – I didn't need to listen any further to already know it. He was on the same side as father, the same side Greg shared some affiliation with. It was only through his love of me that he wasn't fully initiated – unlike his friend. His friend who was rubbing at his covered forearm that likely bore the mark father's did. Gregory was friends with a Death Eater – it was bad enough that our father was one. But you could not choose your father - you _could _choose your friends.

The conversation trailed off for a moment as they both fell silent. Gregory sighed, preparing to leave the room as he murmured something about checking what was keeping the house-elves from bringing up the tea that he had requested much earlier.

Left alone, Malfoy surveyed the room once before he finally turned to fully face the portrait. I drew in a slow breath; he really was struggling to sleep. I watched as the boy, taller than me, studied the portrait before him. And yet, because of the steps before the portrait, we were almost eye level. From the safety of my room, I studied his icy eyes as they flickered around the portrait frame. With a curious frown, Malfoy reached into his pocket and drew out his wand. He rolled it between his fingers, stepping away from the portrait and I hoped he would leave. Only, he didn't. Malfoy raised his wand to the portrait and murmured a spell – the one that Greg used to open his end of the portrait – in a single breath.

I stumbled back quickly, knowing he could see me. My heart pounded in my chest; wonder how he could possibly have known the spell? Or that I was hidden here? How had he found out? I didn't think that anyone else apart from my blood family had seen me before.

I swallowed thickly, struggling to say anything and still, unable to look away from eyes that were suddenly so expressive; pupils blown wide with wonder.

I caught myself, knowing that father would kill me if anyone found out he'd seen me, and looked away. Climbing the stairs before the portrait, I grasped the curtains, preparing to wrench them shut and cut me off from Malfoy's eyes.

When I'd barely made it through the motion, I'd barely covered half of the portrait when Malfoy asked softly, "Who are you?"

Aborting the motion, I stared into his eyes and wanted more than anything to answer his question. But I breathed out slowly, forcefully closing the curtains the rest of the way. Still, I didn't move. I remained where I stood, listening out as Greg called out from the hallway and then there was another murmured spell – to close Greg's end of the portrait, likely in time before Gregory had entered the room. Salazar, this wasn't supposed to happen – any of it.

* * *

Malfoy returned again. It had been a few days since his last visit and this time, he had visited our home whilst Gregory wasn't here. I'd been sitting on my bed, reading slowly and started at the sound of his bedroom door opening; Gregory wasn't supposed to be home from a trip with father for another hour or two. I stood slowly, approaching the portrait and climbing the steps so I could peer out of it.

I watched, brows furrowed in confusion, as Malfoy peeked his head around the door. He walked in, after checking that the door was empty and then finally stepped in.

He stepped over Greg's robes that were piled haphazardly on the floor with a crinkled nose. I waited, wondering just what he was doing here and whether Greg knew that his friend was so nosey. Still, I continued to watch Malfoy as he approached the portrait like I knew he would. Like I'd known he'd planned to do from the moment he'd walked in.

Malfoy stopped by the portrait, searching it quizzically. Silently, I wondered why he wasn't simply reciting the spell. With a small sigh, Malfoy prepped an arm on the bookshelf below the portrait and leaned curiously in as if wanting to see past the painting. I leaned back, startled at having his face so close to mine.

"Can you hear me?" he wondered aloud and I nodded, knowing he couldn't see me. Of course, I didn't give him a verbal answer. Instead, I continued to watch him.

I watched as he straightened up to his full height and reached into his back pocket. Knowing he was going for his wand; I made an aborted motion to reach for the curtains. Only when I saw his wand, did I actually grab the curtains and prepare to pull them shut. But I didn't, not yet anyway. My eyes greedily searched his face, and I realised then, how hungry I was for human company. I wanted, more than anything, to meet people that I wasn't related to by blood, to be able to talk to them. Salazar, even more than that, I wanted to step out of the house without having Greg acting as a faithful shadow. If he wasn't with me, my parents certainly wouldn't let me out of the house. It was my own greed that had me lingering still, even as Malfoy cast the spell and opened up the portrait.

My eyes met his and he didn't flinch in any way – like he'd been expecting to find me waiting for him. I swallowed thickly, letting go of the curtains and clutching my hands together in front of me. He held my gaze, refusing to look away or even to speak and for a moment, I had the most absurd urge to fix my hair, as if it would mean anything. The silence lengthened until it grew unbearable and I reached once more for the curtains.

"No," he said softly, as if he didn't want to startle me. "Please, don't go."

When I dropped the curtains once more, he nodded, satisfied. I continued to stand before him, wanting him to disappear or even for Greg to come home.

"We've never met before," he guessed, sounding like a question. I hesitated to answer; likely we _had _met when we were both young, when my parents still allowed me to socialise with others. Before they'd discovered that I was a squib. Eventually, I shook my head. Malfoy frowned at how long it took me to answer him. "Are you trapped here?"

I contemplated the question for a moment before shaking my head again. Yes, in a sense I was trapped here, but I certainly would never admit that. Being trapped here, by the ones I loved was a reality I didn't yet want to face. Malfoy's frown deepened, as if irritated by my lack of speech. But he released a breath, shaking and gathering his composure. Finally, I clasped at the fractured ends of my courage and came to a decision.

"What are you doing here?" My voice croaked from lack of use. Clearing my throat, I asked again and pretended not to notice the surprise that flittered across his features. "What are you doing here?"

"Mrs Goyle let me in." He considered me for a moment, tilting his head. "What's your name?"

My name would be the clue to it all. If we had ever met, if Gregory actually talked about me to his friends like he claimed he did, then Malfoy would know. He would know the truth that I _was _trapped here, kept away from everyone and not allowed to leave. Sure, according to my parents, I had everything I could ask for, but did it make me greedy to crave this? This human interaction?

"Your name?" he repeated once more, voice soft. Malfoy held my eyes as if knowing how big of an ask this was, and how I was still unwilling to trust him with it.

Slowly, I wrung my hands together but answered his question, speaking my name. He repeated it instantly and I breathed shakily; how long had it been since someone spoke my name? I was certain that no one outside my family had _ever_ said my name aloud. At least, not for as long as I had been able to remember it.

He spoke my name again, marvelling, "It sound familiar – you're Greg's sister?"

"I am." Malfoy looked even more confused at my identity, as if he'd come to some conclusion already by himself and I'd proven him wrong.

"My name's Draco. Draco Malfoy." For a moment, he continued to watch me, as if waiting. I knew what for.

"Draco," I repeated softly, lips curving around his unfamiliar name. His lips curved upwards for a moment, soft and barely there before I disappeared. "Why are you here, Draco?"

"I have something I wanted to give you." He reached into his pocket, drawing out an envelope. For a moment, he glanced around before asking, "How can I give it to you?"

I thought for a moment, contemplating asking him to leave it in Greg's room and that I'd collect it later. But I didn't want to. I wanted to actually look at him, without the portrait separating us.

"Give me a second."

He nodded his consent and I walked down the stairs and towards the entrance to my chambers. I paused for a moment, breathing out steadily to stem the fear that rankled through me in that moment. Did I really want to do this? Without giving myself another moment to contemplate it, my hand went to the handle, turning it and pulling it inwards. I opened it very slightly, standing in the doorway and averting my eyes when Draco instantly turned toward me.

He approached me with hesitant steps, and I didn't look up even when his shoes entered my field of vision. Slowly, he called my name again and I lifted my head to meet his eyes and realised I was correct in my guess; he was a head taller than me. Draco held my eyes for a moment, searching them and I felt like I couldn't breathe, trapped under his stare. Maybe seeing him like this was too overwhelming.

"The letter?" I prompted.

Draco outstretched it to me again, holding it out to me. My eyes instantly settled onto the skin bared to my eyes by his stretched arm, I could see the beginnings of dark ink. I grabbed the letter quickly, thanking him for it and turning away in a heartbeat. The bookshelf slammed shut behind me and I hurried towards my end of the portrait. Ignoring his befuddlement, I closed the curtains on him and ignored his heavy sigh.

* * *

It took me some time to actually read Draco's letter. At first, I'd stashed the envelope under my pillow and refused to even look at it, terrified that father would find out. If he somehow found out that not only had I been _seen _by the Malfoy boy, but that he was attempting to communicate with me, I had no idea what he would do to me. I'd even had to keep it from Gregory, knowing that even if he didn't want to, he would accidentally reveal the secret to father. I so worried about a potential consequence that would take away what little I had now, that I contemplated not reading it.

But my heart always wondered. I'd always wanted to talk to someone, to be _seen _by someone and to have them know I existed, that the chance was right there in front of me. I couldn't just pass it up. So, I'd caved, eventually. Eventually, I'd read through Draco's letter that was really nothing serious, nothing important. It was just a cordial letter, introducing himself and the curious questions that he wanted me to answer. I would never answer them in person and instead wrote him a letter in response, picking and choosing which of his questions to answer. It was the very first letter I'd written to anyone; I'd never written one to Greg either. I had no owl to send the letter so I had no need to write them, but with Draco I wouldn't need an owl. I'd already written it over four times, worrying over and over that somehow, I'd messed up writing a letter.

When Draco returned to Gregory's room, he was this time accompanied by Gregory. The boys were sitting and talking about something mundane but I couldn't look away from the portrait – waiting and waiting for a moment to be alone with him. Draco's eyes certainly continued to stray towards the portrait, as if wondering where if I was watching him. Gregory certainly hadn't noticed.

There was a lull in the conversation before Draco cleared his throat. He thought for a moment before asking Gregory to check on lunch because he was hungry. It seemed that Draco was joining my family for lunch and he likely knew that once Gregory went to the kitchens, he would be distracted for a good while before returning to his room. Did he want us to have a while together instead of just a slight moment?

Draco rose to his feet, eyes lingering on the door for a few moments after Gregory walked out, checking to make sure he wasn't returning. When he was certain, he turned towards the portrait to seek me out. But I beat him to it; stepping away from my end of the portrait and pushing the door open very slightly. From the corner of my eye, I caught the way Draco started at the sound of the door opening, never having expected it to be a door.

His eyes searched out my own then, frowning when I couldn't seem to return his gaze. Draco approached me then, taking cautious step after cautious step towards me. I couldn't bring myself to look at him, to see how he was reacting to seeing me again. Instead, when the sound of his shoes against the floor came to a still, I finally met his eyes. He tried to offer me a smile that I couldn't return. Instead, I fumbled with the envelope and held it out towards him to take.

His hand hovered for a moment, hesitating before he asked dubiously, "You're going to leave as soon as I take the letter, aren't you?"

Gregory was right; he was smart. I nodded softly, searching his eyes and waiting.

"Then I don't want it."

I forced down the hurt – of course, who would want a letter from me? Instead, I shrugged and prepared to head back into the safety of my room. But he caught my hand easily in his and the contact, so startling and foreign had me actually gasping aloud. I couldn't remember the last time someone had touched me, or even held me. Not even Greg who claimed to love me regardless but still refused to touch me as if being a squib was contagious. I didn't realise until that moment, how much I missed it. Biting my lip to stop it quivering, I turned to face Draco and waited.

"I'll take the letter," he assured softly, searching my features for some clue to the reasoning behind my reaction. "Just please, don't go."

"Alright," I murmured slowly, looking down at his hand on mine. "Can you let go of my hand?"

He did, in the very next instant and apologising for it. I missed his touch immediately but did my best not to let it show. Holding the letter once more towards Draco, I waited for him to take it before holding one hand over the other – trying to mirror the way he'd held me and the warmth his touch caused. It was a shoddy replacement.

I searched his eyes again, and they softened visibly. Why? Why was he looking at me like that? Like I was someone he wanted to know more about? And to help? I didn't need help – no one wanted to help me, anyway.

Slowly, he asked, "If you're Greg's sister, why are you stuck in there?"

I hesitated for a long moment, wandering whether I should tell him the truth. The moment he _did _know the truth, he would be shifting away from me, drawing back. If he knew the truth, he wouldn't want to help me. Still, I had to tell him the truth because if he asked Gregory, Greg would tell him after a short struggle. And Draco's stance would be obvious – the ink marring his skin was enough of a clue.

"I'm a squib," I admitted, the words actually passing my lips for the first time.

Despite how he tried to hide it, I caught it – the small aborted step he took backwards. It was enough. I turned instantly, hurrying into my bedroom and knowing that he wouldn't be able to follow after me. Draco called my name, knocking against the bookshelf and trying to get me to talk to him. He called out for me to join him. But I didn't. I continued to ignore him and hurried once more to the portrait. Shutting the curtains, I firmly kept him out even as I heard him recite the spell so he could see me. He sighed loudly, finding himself facing my curtains and he called my name once more, pleading.

"Draco?" Greg's voice cut through the air and I struggled to breathe; he was here and he knew.

I peeked out from beneath the curtains, watching as the two friends silently faced off. Draco's hand tightened around his wand for a moment, as if expecting Greg to cast a spell. Certainly, from the strain in Greg's jaw, I expected the same.

Instead, Greg ground out, "We need to talk, Malfoy."

* * *

I'd remained, as a lingering ear as Gregory and Draco talked about me, as if I wasn't capable of hearing everything going on. At one point, the voices had died down as if they'd left the room and upon peeking out of the curtains, I realised that they were talking, steadily and one of them must have cast a spell to block me out. There was something they didn't want me to hear. Whatever they were talking about, they must have reached some conclusion and whatever conclusion they had, had Draco returning the next day.

The very next day, I'd been sitting on my bed to the sound of knocking against the portrait. I'd assumed it was Greg, like it usually was, and opened the curtains. It wasn't. My eyes met Draco's as he stared up at me, his chin propped on the crossed arms that he had propped on the short bookshelf. His eyes searched mine and I was caught by such surprise, that I almost stumbled back.

I rooted myself to the spot, eyes flickering away from Draco and in search of Greg; where was my brother? And why was he leaving me alone here with Draco?

"He's keeping your father busy," Draco said, like he was reading my mind. When I looked back to Draco, he offered me a tentative smile, "He offered to do it so we could talk. _Can _we talk?"

I hesitated. It would be so easy to reach for the curtains, to close them on him and head back to the book I'd abandoned. I owed him nothing, I didn't have to talk to him. Especially if he was so aghast about what I was, that he'd turned away from me after finding out the truth.

Draco continued to hold my eyes, refusing to look away and insistent on getting an answer from me. Despite everything, I knew he would accept a refusal, if I _did _refuse him.

Eventually, I asked, "Why?"

His smile flickered for a moment then, growing a little sad at the corners, "I just want to talk, that's it."

"Fine."

Draco straightened up then, standing tall and considering me for a moment. "How old are you?"

"16; a year younger than Greg."

"Than me." He offered me a teasing smile, like he was trying to lighten the mood. "Are you as dumb as Greg?"

I scowled in response, preparing to turn away from him. Draco apologised hurriedly, giving me an apologetic look when I narrowed my eyes warningly.

"Sorry, that was my bad attempt at humour. Sort of." His mouth turned up slightly on one side, like he was trying to hide a smile. "You didn't answer my question."

"I'm not," I admitted reluctantly, not wanting to call Greg dumb. "Why are you really here?"

"I wanted to talk to you," he insisted and again, I wanted to ask why. Why did he want to talk to me? Why did he want to see me? There certainly wasn't anything interesting about me beyond my being stuck in my bedroom. Reaching into the inner pockets of his robe, Draco drew out another envelope and waved it around slightly, "I have another letter for you."

"Why do you write to me?"

"Because I want to." His brows furrowed in confusion at my question, as if I was silly to have asked it. "Where should I leave the letters from now on?"

"Letters? You're going to leave me more than one?"

"I'd like to." In the face of his honest confession, I struggled to answer, "I could give them to Greg?"

"_No. _Leave it on the bookshelf and I'll collect it."

Draco, satisfied, set the letter down and then asked, "What about when I'm at Hogwarts? How can I write to you?"

"You can't." I was so firm that Draco didn't rebut my refusal, like he so clearly wanted to.

If Draco wrote to me whilst at Hogwarts, Father would receive the owl. If he or mother received the owl, they would realise the truth, and I would suffer for it. I didn't dare think on what type of consequences I could face.

"Thank you," Draco said finally, drawing away at the sound of approaching footsteps, "for talking to me."

I just returned it with a nod. How could I possibly tell him that I was the one that should've been thanking him. It was because of him, and these short meetings that I was given a brief preview into the world beyond my room. Whether he knew it or not, he was a small glimpse of sunshine in my light deprived room. I certainly would never tell him. Not when he couldn't stand my being a squib.

* * *

The death eaters were once more meeting in our home. I never understood why they met at our home, and why they didn't meet in one of the homes of members of the Dark Lord's inner circle. Greg hypothesised that the Ministry was keeping watch on those houses and when I'd suggested that surely, they would keep a watch over ours, especially given the past our father had, Gregory had nothing to say in response.

Even today, as they met downstairs, in the room literally beneath my feet, I felt that something was wrong. For one thing, Gregory was downstairs and he'd also told me that I could stay in his room. He claimed there was no need for me to hide away, that because he'd be in the meeting, no one would be coming to visit him to talk. I was so desperate to be somewhere that wasn't my room that I let myself accept his faulty logic.

I had finished my book long ago and was waiting for mother to buy me the new books like she had promised. But right now, there seemed to be no sign of them. So instead, I'd curled up on the chaise lounge with a book I'd read probably countless times now and made it part way through before falling asleep in the warmth of the sunlight peeking through the window. My fate and the life I'd lived had made a light sleeper of me; this wasn't the first time that I'd fallen asleep in that very position.

Gregory's doorknob creaked as it was turned and I startled awake. Preparing to rise to my feet, I gathered my things and went to rush to the bookshelf to hide away, all whilst my heart hammered painfully in my throat.

"Don't."

The single word, spoken softly and in Draco's voice, had me turning towards the door. Draco stood before the now closed door, a hand lingering on the doorknob before it fell limply to his side.

"What are you doing here?" I asked slowly, dropping my own hand from the concealed entrance to my bedroom. "Draco?"

"I wanted to talk to you," he said simply.

"That's not what I meant." Curling my toes in my slippers, I took a moment to gather my courage before asking, "There's a meeting today, in my house, and why are you attending it?"

When it seemed like he wouldn't answer, like he struggled to come up with some sort of answer, I sighed. I went to turn back into my bedroom, shouldering the door open and just as I went to cross the threshold, Draco called out my name once more.

"Can you not stay a little longer? Just talk to me for a bit?"

"About what?" Again, he struggled to answer me and so I reminded him, "Death eaters and squibs don't mix. Death eaters have a very well-known attitude towards people like me and it's why I'm stuck in my room, unable to leave. So, why are you here?"

"I don't know," he answered plainly. This time, he seemed to answer truthfully, like he really had no answer to my question. And it wasn't enough. I refused to let it be enough.

"Well, then why are you a part of this all? When you're so young? To be involving yourself with something like this, with dark magic –"

I cut myself off, watching as Draco walked towards me then. He took steady steps, quickly eating up the distance between us until he finally stopped, just before me. Holding my eyes, Draco considered me for a long moment before reaching out. He took my hand, cradling it steadily in his and I tried my best to remain aloof and unaffected. I hoped I'd succeeded.

Eventually, Draco confessed softly, "I have no choice but to be a part of this."

I swallowed thickly, curling my hand around his for a moment. Only a moment. And then I released his hand, insisting, "Everyone has a choice. There's always a choice."

He remained unconvinced. "Even you?"

"Yes." His brows furrowed disbelievingly but I insisted, "There is always a choice. I choose to be kind, even to a father who wishes I had never been born."

"I don't understand you," Draco confessed and before he could say something else, the doorknob rattled; he'd locked it.

I drew my hand quickly from his, turning to hurry back to my room when Greg's voice called out through the locked door, "Hurry up Draco, they're beginning to wonder where you are?"

Draco's eyes were so focused on watching the door, on making sure that no one entered, that he didn't notice me slip away. Only when he turned back, expecting to find me there and finding himself face to face with the bookshelf, Draco sighed. He said nothing else, not even a quiet goodbye as he walked out of Greg's room and back to the death eaters below.

* * *

Gregory was heading back to Hogwarts for the second term. He was complaining about having to once more attend his lessons, but I had my own complaints. With Gregory back in school, I'd lose whatever slight freedom I had gained with him here. But I kept the complaints to myself, instead helping him to pack his clothes and making sure that he had everything. I'd quickly learned, after Gregory forgot to pack his school robes in second year, that it was better for him if I was there whilst he packed.

He sat on the bed, munching away at some chocolate he'd smuggled for me from the kitchens, and watched as I folded his robes away into a separate bag so he could change on the train. Finishing the chocolate, Greg started to talk about all the complaints he'd kept hidden to himself. I listened as he talked, waiting for him to confess everything, to speak aloud the whispered words that echoed around our house.

There were whispers, not really anything solid, but whispered fragmented threats of what would be happening within the space of a few months; death eaters would be storming Hogwarts castle. I didn't dare think on it, not wanting to contemplate the consequences. Because there would be consequences. Ones that had overarching effects that would hurt me.

If death eaters took Hogwarts, the Dark Lord had gained some ground. And if he had gained some ground, what did it mean for people like me? What would happen? Would father keep me hidden away, seemingly for my own safety? Or would he hand me over if the eradication for squibs was called for?

My hand shook slightly at the thought. I forced myself to take a deep breath, calming myself and continuing to help Gregory with packing his uniform. When I'd finished, I zipped the smaller bag shut and placed it on top of his trunk. The only thing left for Greg to remember would be his wand and I was certain he'd remember that at least.

I turned towards Greg, realising that he'd trailed off at some point and was instead watching me with cautious eyes.

"What's the matter, Greg?" He continued to watch me, as if he was staring off into space. Reaching out, I shook his arm enough for him to come to his senses. "Greg?"

"About Draco?" he started hesitantly and I looked away instantly. My brother knew, I _knew _my brother knew that Draco and I were meeting. But I wondered whether he knew the truth; that my thoughts lingered around him and it was so stupid that I'd developed feelings for the first man I'd seen? Did he know that sometimes I stayed awake at night, wondering if he could ever feel the same way about a squib like me?

"Nothing happened," I cut in, firm and intending not to let him speak further.

But Gregory wouldn't let this slip passed. He was being unusually persistent, "Yet. Nothing has happened yet."

"I'm a _squib_," I reminded him, hating myself for the strain in my voice. Lowering my voice, I spoke softly, "I'm a squib so nothing can happen."

"Nothing can happen because you're stuck in here." Greg shook his head, "Not because of what you are, but because of where you are."

"This is a stupid conversation."

"You're right, I'm stupid –"

"_Greg._"

"I'm stupid but even I know that this isn't right." He looked around the room, evading my eyes. Gregory leaned towards me, lowering his voice as he spoke slowly, "What if we could get you out? If we got you out an away from here? What then?"

"Greg, there's nowhere else for me to go. I don't know anything else."

"Neither do I." He reached out then, placing a clammy hand on top of mine. He was nervous – my brother, bumbling and as slow as he might have been, cared for me in a way I wasn't sure anyone else in my family did. "But if I could, if _we _could get you out of here and to somewhere else, would you go? If you were somewhere where you could live the life you really wanted? What then?"

"I'd go," I confessed my most kept secret. That if I had the chance to leave it all behind – leave my family behind, I would. If that was what I had to do to live the life I wanted, to be able to feel the sun on my face and walk somewhere that _wasn't _my or Greg's bedroom, I would. I wanted it so desperately that it overrode any sense. "But where?"

Greg offered me a sad smile, a lonely smile. Perhaps I hadn't been the only one that was lonely in this house. We both had parents that spent more time away from us than with us. He might have spent more time with our parents than I did, but _I _was the one that he gave the majority of his time to. What would he do if I went anywhere? Who would he talk to and confess his hidden thoughts to? How would he deal with the consequences of letting me go?

"The muggle world," Greg finally answered, and I _actually _looked at him then. He meant it. He would send me away to the muggle world if it was what I wanted. Only if it was something that I wanted. "Would you want to go still?"

I hesitated for a moment longer, would it be better to be selfish? Just this once?

Before I could change my mind, I nodded. Just once. But it was enough. It had to be.

That night, under the cover of dark, and like a whisper of the night, Gregory and Draco smuggled me out. They didn't linger long, only long enough to settle me and then they returned home before morning broke. Not with a hug, or even with a first kiss.


	2. Epilogue: 5 Years Later

_5 YEARS LATER _

Surviving in the muggle world was difficult. At first, it had been the most difficult thing I had done in my sheltered life but, after making the acquaintance of other squibs and being given their experience as a way of guiding how I could move forward in my life, it grew easier. Slowly, it grew easier and now, years on, I struggled to remember the issues I'd faced at first. Everything was almost straightforward, with a few hitches along the way, but still I wondered how I had ever lived anywhere else.

Every week, I would get messages from Greg, whose owl seemed to spend half of its time in my apartment. In his last letter, Gregory had announced his plan to visit me soon, with his three year travel ban having come to an end. There were still matters of father's will that we had to deal with but I disregarded that part of the letter. I was so pleased and so focused on seeing Greg again, that I'd set about redoing the guest bedroom so I knew he would be comfortable during his stay. He hadn't mentioned how long he was planning on staying, but I knew that no matter how long it was, it would feel like it wasn't enough.

Despite how much I'd grown to resent our family name, the money that came from that name, alongside the grant I'd received from the ministry, helped to set up the life I had. It certainly helped with paying for the evening classes that I was taking to make up for my lack of education regarding all things muggle. The evening classes were something I looked forward to the most in my days and I had a thirst for knowledge that I previously hadn't realised I'd possessed.

On my way back from tonight's evening class, I'd stopped in on one of the takeaways that were still open and got myself a pizza. As I walked, the delicious scent of it tortured my rumbling stomach and made me that much more desperate to get home. I'd get inside, turn the television on and pig out in front of some trashy reality show. The muggle television was a wonder I was glad to have been introduced to.

I quickened my steps when the apartment complex came into view. Closing the rest of the distance with quick steps, I headed for the lift. Reaching into my pocket, I retrieved my keys so I wouldn't fumble with them in front of my door. The lift reached my floor with a ding and I stepped off with a smile; I was almost there.

Humming quietly to my step, I walked down the corridor towards my flat. Only, my feet slowed at the sight of the man waiting before the door. My friends had warned me that sometimes men weren't as harmless as I liked to think and that maybe I needed to be less trustworthy with certain people. My feet halted for a moment, but only until the man lifted his head and I saw his hair. No one else had blonde hair that was _that _close to white.

My breath left me at once; had his travel ban been lifted as well?

I forced my feet forward, one faltering step at a time until I was close enough to see his face. And it was him. Salazar, I hadn't spoken to Draco since the night he'd smuggled me of my home. He'd continued to linger in my thoughts, and I'd wondered repeatedly about his fate, about what had become of him. And here he stood, before my home, as if no time had passed.

Only, I could see the effects of time on his face. Time had eased away whatever roundness remained on his features and he was all sharp edges now. He looked like he'd lost weight, as if he'd had anything to lose. Merlin, what had become of him?

"Draco," his name left me as a murmur.

He heard it, nonetheless. Draco's head turned towards me then, looking me over just once and then he was approaching me. His hands came up, cradling my face so securely that I couldn't help but sigh out. Years later and I still craved contact, still needed it and yet, I didn't let anyone close enough to do that. Not anyone, except the man standing right before me. Draco peered down into my eyes, searching them with a relieved smile.

"Thank Salazar," he breathed out slowly, thumbs rubbing softly across the apples of my cheeks.

"What happened to you?" I murmured softly, reaching out for him then – for the first time. My fingers skimmed the darkened space beneath his eyes. "Why have you become so gaunt?"

"I missed you," he confessed as if that answered my question.

"Your house arrest?"

"It ended last night." Draco smiled apologetically then, "I couldn't risk breaking it and having people find you."

"It's ok," I assured him. And it was. It didn't matter that it was five years later. All that mattered was that he'd come for me, that somehow to someone, I was their first priority. I was the first person Draco wanted to see after ending his house arrest. Visiting me was the first time he'd wanted to do. One of the doors opened and shut behind me and it was only then that I remembered we were standing in the hallway. "Why don't we head inside?"

For a moment, it looked like Draco was going to hesitate. "Is that alright?"

Everything in me wanted to assure him that it was fine, that he didn't need to ask me. But it was then I realised that this was the first time anyone would come into my space, into a home that was mine. Whether it was my old bedroom, or my current home, Draco would be the first. No one had ever been welcomed into such an important part of my world.

"Come," I said softly, holding my hand out. Draco took it softly, holding my hand and letting me lead him into my home.


End file.
